As discussed this week at workshop, some scholars believe our current beliefs about the importance and necessary depth of revision derive from the practices of Modernist authors at the turn of the century in conjunction with one very significant invention: the typewriter. Below is an excerpt of Craig Fehrman’s fascinating article for the Boston Globe discussing Hannah Sullivan’s new book, The Work of Revision, and the evolution of the writing process throughout history:
“It’s easy to assume that history’s greatest authors have been history’s greatest revisers. But that wasn’t always how it worked. Until about a century ago, according to various biographers and critics, literature proceeded through handwritten manuscripts that underwent mostly small-scale revisions.
Then something changed. In a new book, “The Work of Revision,” Hannah Sullivan, an English professor at Oxford University, argues that revision as we now understand it—where authors, before they publish anything, will spend weeks tearing it down and putting it back together again—is a creation of the 20th century. It was only under Modernist luminaries like Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and Virginia Woolf that the practice came to seem truly essential to creating good literature. Those authors, Sullivan writes, were the first who “revised overtly, passionately, and at many points in the lifespan of their texts.”
What caused these writers to put their faith in revision as the key to good literature? In part, it was the philosophy of Modernism—the idea that a novel or poem should challenge the reader, break with tradition, and, in the words of Pound, “Make it new.” But Sullivan, who belongs to a new wave of scholars trying to understand literature through the physical and historical realities of its creation, finds that our value of revision was also driven by something else: the typewriter.
It might seem strange to think that we owe the high style of Modernism—and the notion that even a book titled “Dad is Fat” requires strenuous reworking—to a machine. But “The Work of Revision” makes a case that what we write often comes down to how we write. Careful revision isn’t automatic or even automatically useful. And that means, as our technology changes once again, that literary style may already be undergoing another transformation.” — Craig Fehrman, “Revising your writing again? Blame the Modernists,” 30 June 2013.
Follow the link above to enjoy the rest of the article–which goes into greater detail about the typewriter’s impact on the writing/revising process and reveals the revision practices of some of our most beloved authors–over at the Boston Globe.
Do you have a revision ritual or writing process that works for you? Strange habits that help you create? We want to hear from you, so please share in the comments below!
“For writers, the last sentences aren’t about reader responsibility at all — it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to stop worrying about what comes next, because nothing does. No more keeping the reader interested, no more wariness over giving the game away. This is the best time for a writer to get real, to depict reality as they see it, without compromises, without fear.”– Jonathan Russell Clark
Chicago-based interdisciplinary artist and illustrator Lillie Carré’s innovative webcomic, “The Bloody Footprint,” uses GIFs and animation alongside her two-dimensional drawings and text. Not only is the content moving, but the webcomic itself literally moves.
Rather than give anything away, we’re posting only this mysterious selection from the comic, the rest of which you can find at the NY Times.
Los Angeles Review of Books on Alison Hawthorne Deming’s Zoologies: On Animals and the Human Spirit:
“…Deming loves the interrogative mood. It’s one way she deepens the meaning of her essays. Questions allow her to imagine historical events: “What bird sang on this stream bank at dawn and dusk in those years when hunters flensed meat from gigantic bones and hung it over pine rails to dry?” Questions guide her into scientific lines of inquiry: “Why do some animals mate for life?” Questions frame moral issues: “Is it ethical to ask animals to grow organs for human transplantation?” And questions move the concrete to the metaphorical. In a chapter on ants, they lead to queries about art: “Why is it that the arrangement of the petals is so symmetrical? The pattern of cone building repeated with such precise craft?” Deming’s questions — and there are dozens of them throughout the book — remind us just how full of wonder humans are about the world, about themselves, about animals, about the intricacies of language.” — D.J. Lee, Los Angeles Review of Books
Check out the the rest at LARB.
Sometimes in writing–or any creative activity really–seeing something from a different perspective can make all the difference. In his short film, A Different Perspective, Chris O’Hara forms this idea into a literal concept, wherein an alien somehow ends up on a 2-D Earth and ends up changing how everyone else sees the world.
“The original idea spawned from a little sketch I did, where I had this giant character bumping into the sun, like the alien does with the moon,” O’Hara explains. “This led to the idea of playing with perspective and depth of field, and then I built a little story around those ideas. The flat, graphic nature of the design was implemented as it best served the concept, and helped to sell the perspective gags and ideas—the camera needed to stay straight on for the perspective gags to really work.” — Chris O’Hara, via @FastCo.Create
Check it out below, and head to FastCo.Create for the full article.
“Aside from issues of life and death, there is no more urgent task for American intellectuals and writers than to think critically about the salience, even the tyranny, of technology in individual and collective life.”
– Leon Wieseltier, Among the Disrupted
“‘Aside from issues of life and death, there is no more urgent task for American intellectuals and writers than to think critically about the salience, even the tyranny, of technology in individual and collective life,’ wrote Leon Wieseltier last month in his call to arms against the threat technology poses to humanism. ‘Among the Disrupted‘ sparked a heated debate among its readers, or at least, as heated as can reasonably be expected in the letters section of the New York Times Book Review. As one critic pointed out, there are plenty of more urgent issues for all of us to ponder, child poverty and the pay gap among them. What struck me, though, wasn’t the essay’s hyperbole, but the inaccuracy of its target.
The problem facing writers now isn’t the growing prominence of tech, but the question of how deeply the two fields are intertwined, and what that relationship means. Most of the notable works of fiction published in recent years (Jennifer Egan’s A Visit From the Goon Squad and Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven spring immediately to mind) present thoughtful considerations of the evolving relationship between the self and technology, and a lot of the people who read these books probably read them on the Kindle app. The same people who subscribe to Harpers read work published by the Atavist and curated by Longform. I’m writing right now in the notepad app on my iPhone, and you’re reading on your computer or your iPad or your own phone. How many writers do you know at this point who don’t have their own websites, Tumblrs, or blogs? For that matter, how many do you know who aren’t on Twitter?”
Read the rest at The Millions…
We want to hear from you! Tell us what you think in the comments below (or tweet us @chapmanoutreach–just don’t tell these two authors)!
Do you agree with Wieseltier that technology poses a tyrannical threat to the humanities? to individual and collective life? to human connection in general?
How is your own writing intertwined with technology and social media? If it isn’t, how and why is that?
The point of the daily diary exercise is not to record what you already know about what happened to you in the last 24 hours. Instead, it’s an invitation to the back of your mind to come forward and reveal to you the perishable images about the day you didn’t notice you noticed at all.” — Lynda Barry
In a recent Tumblr post, artist, author and professor Lynda Barry discusses the many variations on her diary-keeping exercises. As opposed to a place for simply logging one’s most recent 24-hour haze day after day after day, Barry’s diaries “teach you to hear, see, and remember the world all around you.”
“The point of this practice is to begin to notice when we notice something. It’s akin to a certain sort of ‘waking up’ – and becoming present in a different way than we usually are in our day to day lives. We catch ourselves noting something that has caught our eye or our ear. We begin to realize these flashes of awakeness [sic] –(which can oddly feel also like dreaming), are happening to us all day long…” (Barry)
To highlight some of the diary-keeping parameters that might help you throughout our workshop and in the future, here’s a short list of what to include in your diary/journal/notebook [as quoted from Barry’s drawings above/below]:
- things that you noticed when you became present — that is to say when the hamster wheel of thoughts and plans and worries stopped long enough for you to notice where you were and what was going on around you…
- things you did
- things you observed
- things you overheard
Barry’s Tumblr is not only an excellent source of notebook-keeping wisdom, but also full of incredible golden nuggets of inspiration from around the web and world at large. For now here’s a page from her most recent book, Syllabus, which was published just last year. As always, Barry poses insightful questions with multiple, perhaps unending, answers. I invite you to spend some time reflecting on the questions posed here in your workshop journal. And remember: There are no wrong answers.